


Minding Your Endgame

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Absinthe, Body Modification, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunken Shenanigans, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Friends With Benefits, HP: EWE, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied Sexual Content, Incest, Language, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Pseudo-Incest, Semi-Public Sex, Sloppy Seconds, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpt: <br/><i>“He’s so pretty when he’s shameless,” Scorpius murmured</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Minding Your Endgame

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted April 22nd 2014 at HP Fandom. Betaed by GhostxWriter. 
> 
> This work was inspired by this piece of (very NSFW) art: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/584237.html#cutid1 à ---Now go leave her some love! Also: I am fully aware that I am a horrible person because I wrote this fic. The only thing I have to say in my defense is “see pen name” (and that at least everyone is over the age of consent). If you leave reviews, I will love you forever! 
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned the Potterverse . . . well, see below. I think that sorta makes things obvious.

When Albus had left after graduating from Hogwarts, declaring that he needed to see the world and have some “experiences” before choosing a career and settling down, no one was really surprised. Well, Lily was, a bit, but that died pretty quick. So, off went the second Potter child—with the tears of his mother, hugs from his sister, the indifference of his brother, well-wishes of his friends and the Weasleys, some Muggle advice from his aunt Hermione, and a few not-so-legal trinkets from his dad, “just in case”.   
  
Al had said that he didn’t know how long he’d be gone, or if he’d visit, mostly because he wasn’t really working with a plan, as such. So no one was surprised that he sent infrequent owls and post-cards; that sometimes far-flung acquaintances and family members sent them word of Al and his travels; or that it was nearly a year before he came back.   
  
Likewise, it wasn’t shocking that Al came back different—from what they’d heard, he’d done some extensive travelling, and encountered a wide range of cultures, Wizard and Muggle alike. That was bound to change a man, make him grow. But no one had expected him to come back like _this_.   
  
Before he left, Al had been sweet. Mischievous—one could expect little else from the Slytherin nephew of the Weasley twins—but sweet. He’d been more academically focussed than his siblings, a loyal friend (read: conspirator) with Scorpius, a little awkward and more than a little innocent in his sexuality. He wore his hair brutally short—not wanting to encourage any _further_ comparisons between himself and his father, thank-you very much—and paid little attention to his clothing, so long as it was on right-way-up and at least two sizes too big.   
  
Who came back was barely recognizable as Albus Potter.   
  
Gone was the endearing klutziness and boyish charm. In its place was a young man who looked, spoke, and moved as differently from the Al they remembered as was possible. Clumsiness had made way for a sensual sort of grace, one that led the mind places it ought not go. His short hair had been replaced with long, shaggy locks that showed none of his father’s wildness, thanks to some Muggle products and something they called a flat-iron. Gone was the lad who occasionally came down to breakfast with his robes on backwards— _this_ Al favoured some strange Muggle style that flattered him on just the wrong side of family-friendly. Muggle denims, strange tops made of strange fabrics and covered in strange bits and bobs, lots of chains, and the colour black dominated his wardrobe now. The deceptively innocent baby-face—a face that had allowed him to get away with buckets while growing up—had given way to a countenance that all-but proclaimed its sins with black eye-makeup and a lip-ring and expressions that were nearly hand-written invitations. This Al didn’t sneak about to get what he wanted—he walked right up to you and took it in a way that didn’t feel like taking.   
  
In short, the boy that left was a slightly-tarnished lad trying to spread his wings. The wizard who returned was as cunning as Devil’s Snare and twice as deadly.   
  


***

  
  
It was no surprise that Scorpius was the first to fall. Slytherins were practical that way, when presented with a temptation that could be indulged.   
  
All it took was a glance from those green eyes. A single assessing look from eyes dark with lust and kohl, and the two of them had slid into bed like water. Silencing Charms had needed to be cast and re-cast, as Scorpius discovered first-hand some of the more interesting proclivities and tricks his fellow Slytherin had dug up in his travels.   
  
And while Scorpius wasn’t going to toss his friendship down the loo for a good shag—and his own preferences tended more towards birds than blokes, in any case—it was firmly established that he wouldn’t say “no” to sharing Al’s bed again. They were both practical that way.   
  


***

  
  
Of course, not everyone was chuffed at the way travelling had changed Al—his mum in particular.   
  
“Albus Severus Potter, you will remove that metal bob from your face and let me cast a Healing Charm, or so help me . . .” she trailed off threateningly, her hand hovering above her wand.   
  
“Or what?” he asked insolently, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.   
  
Ginny gasped, failing to fill in the threat she’d deliberately left blank in her shock.   
  
He smirked at her. “From what I understand, you don’t exactly have a leg to stand on where body modification is concerned, Mum.” His smirk grew, morphing into an all-out shit-eating grin. “Uncle Charlie tells the most _interesting_ stories when he’s sloshed.”   
  
And at that, Ginny went as red as her hair and decided to say nothing more on the matter.   
  


***

  
  
It was no surprise that Teddy Lupin had developed a rebellious streak a mile wide, between growing up with his grandmother and hearing stories of his father’s legendary sweet temper and self-control. Naturally, he was attracted to anything he shouldn’t do.   
  
And this _definitely_ counted as something he shouldn’t do.   
  
He was in a back room of some dim Muggle club, his hands braced against the wall and his trousers pushed down to his knees. He was burying himself in the body spread beneath him, the young man clinging for dear life and whimpering his pleasure into Teddy’s shoulder. The dark-haired youth had every limb wrapped ‘round Teddy, and were it not for the teeny ledge he was rather precariously balanced on, young Ted would have left his back bloody from the bare brick wall. He was probably scraped raw regardless—though from the sound of his panting groans, it’s not like he minded overmuch.   
  
Teddy closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Al’s face as he reached a hand between them, roughly jerking his almost-younger brother’s cock before he completely lost himself in his own need to come. And even with his eyes closed, he still heard the gasp as Al spurted over his hand, still felt those plump lips part in a smile against his neck, and knew—even with his eyes screwed shut—what his godfather’s son looked like right at this moment.   
  
He wasn’t surprised when he came at the thought.   
  


***

  
  
“Harry, you need to talk to your boy, mate. Gin’s going spare, and ‘Mione’s not far behind.”   
  
“And what am I supposed to say, exactly?”   
  
“Dunno, but _something_ would be good right about now.”   
  
A snort. “Don’t I know it. Problem is, though, that I can’t very well tell Al he can’t do the things he’s doing, because he’s an adult.”   
  
“ _Really_ , now. You ever had a good listen to my mum?”   
  
Laughter. “Git! The point I’m trying to make is that being a little wild as a lad won’t hurt him, and he’s not hurting anyone else. Think about the shenanigans _we_ were getting up to at his age.”   
  
“. . . Fair enough. Guess I ought to start feeling grateful that my two aren’t half the handful we were at that age.”   
  
“Little scary when you think about it that way, innit?”   
  
Al crept back up the stairs, away from the voices of his dad and uncle, a gleam in his eye.   
  


***

  
  
James had no idea how, exactly, it had come to this.   
  
Or, well, it’s a little hard to forget how he’d come, but that was kind of the problem. Thinking back on it, he supposed that equal blame could be laid on him (for drinking), his uncles (damn Wheezes), and his sodding brother (for convincing them to test-drive said damned Wheezes, among other things). But—because it was his sacred duty as an older brother to be an arsehole—he was just going to blame Al.   
  
They had been having a get-together to celebrate Al’s return—complete with all the salacious stories Al couldn’t tell the rest of the family. It was an occasion that called for—nay, _demanded_ —that they get properly sloshed. And Al had just the thing, courtesy of a trip to Romania: absinthe.   
  
And that was how James—along with Teddy, Al, and Scorpius—ended up giving “drunk off your arse” a whole new meaning. Well, maybe two new meanings. It was, in part, due to the fact that Al had neglected to mention that absinthe also had hallucinogenic properties. And, no: as much as James might _wish_ what occurred was a mere hallucination—which would still leave the problem of some very dirty not-so-little desires—it is an unassailable fact that hallucinations don’t leave tangible evidence. So that road to denial was right out.   
  
The evening had started harmlessly enough with Butterbeer. But when Scorpius started pressing Al—in typical Slytherin fashion, of course, so the rest of them had no idea what the blinking flip he was on about—Al declared that if they were going to delve into _those_ traveller’s tales, they were going to need something a whole lot stronger than Butterbeer.   
  
It was obvious that Al took great pleasure in the showmanship and ceremony of preparing the absinthe—he merely rolled his eyes when James suggested they just drink the blasted stuff. But even James had to admit to himself that there was really . . . _something_ about the way Al carefully poured the green liquid over the cubes of sugar, and the way said sugar crumbled through the lacy absinthe-spoon when set on fire. And then they toasted, and drank, and kicked back to hear tell of Al’s shenanigans.   
  
The first story recounted was enough to make James’s eyes go wide. Apparently the Muggle subculture in which Al was dressing was also the source of a great number of brilliant shags. By the time Al had finished his first tale—one in which he had been the man-in-the-middle between a Muggle girl and her chappie—complete with an _obscene_ amount of detail, James was ready for another hit of “green fairy”. Because no one anywhere should have to consider their younger brother that way.   
  
The night wore on in similar fashion, with rounds of absinthe breaking up Al’s stories. Somewhere around the fifth round of ‘fairy—after hearing about how Al had shagged some witch in France, in an alley, in _broad daylight_ —Al passed out vials instead of miniature goblets.   
  
“Whaz—‘scuse—What’s this?” Scorpius asked, glaring at the fuchsia liquid with bleary suspicion.   
  
Al laughed. “It’s a Wheeze. Uncle George asked me to find some test subjects—but don’t fret, it’s just a nudge to make a body ‘fess up ‘bout who they fancy,” he explained. James looked at him, wondering why he seemed to be holding his alcohol better than the rest of them when he was arguably the lightest bloke in the room.   
  
But James decided that his current stock of paranoia was better spent on questioning the Wheeze. A mistake, as it later turned out. “Why Uncle ‘Orge need tests?” he asked slurrily.   
  
Al gave him a look—one that clearly stated what he thought of that question, and the person answering it—but responded anyway. “It’s already been through the standard tests, but Uncle George needs to know if it actually works the way it ought. At least if something goes wrong, there’s only three other people to be embarrassed in front of, and our parents are only a Floo-call away. So why not?” Al asked, tossing his head to clear hair from his eyes.   
  
They were all a touch apprehensive, even with the liquor, but they toasted each other with the vials and knocked it back. Teddy gagged a little, but the others were fine. Or they were, until everything went completely pear-shaped.   
  
After a count of five, they all opened their potion-compelled mouths to blurt out who they supposedly fancied. But something had obviously gone very, very wrong, as Al’s answer was drowned out by the three others unanimously announcing they fancied the younger Potter boy. In the aftermath of the declarations, James was frozen in horror—it was unclear whether or not he was breathing—Teddy looked faintly ill, and Scorpius looked perplexed. Al, however, looked like Christmas had come early. He gave a delighted laugh, and then rolled gracefully to his feet.   
  
He didn’t say a word as he looked at his best mate, a wicked expression stealing over his features. Scorpius lifted a quizzical eyebrow, to which Al merely jerked his chin in challenge. James and Teddy watched the silent exchange with a sense of rising anticipation, but little understanding. Then Al chuckled—a low, dark sound—and Scorpius lunged.   
  
He pinned Al’s slender frame to the wall, hips to hips and hands on shoulders as he leaned in to wipe the smirk off his best mate’s smarmy face. He nipped at Al’s full bottom lip and tugged at the piercing, making Al gasp. Scorpius used that to slip his tongue inside. Al curled his hands round Scorpius’s arms and began rocking his hips as he was snogged within an inch of his life. The intensity meant they eventually had to break for air, and Scorpius wasted no time in pulling Al’s Muggle shirt off his body. Teddy could only stare transfixed as Scorpius moved back in, his target this time the pale expanse of Al’s throat. Al, for his part, clasped the blond’s hips for balance as his head lolled obediently back, a breathy sigh shushing past his kiss-bruised lips. James’s mouth went dry when he heard the sound of the zip being lowered on Al’s denims.   
  
And then Al was gloriously bare under the shapely body of Scorpius Malfoy (because he apparently went without unders these days), and James was damned if he could think of something other than how hot these two were. Fiendfyre couldn’t compare to the sight of his brother, naked and wanting under his best mate. Who, coincidentally, still had all of his kit on. Al’s skin seemed to shine as Scorpius bit and sucked at his neck, shoulder, ear, his hands roaming over faded freckles as Al clung to him. Green eyes glittered hugely against pale skin and black makeup, the lashes long and fluttering madly as Scorpius’s hands drifted lower to lift and support one milky thigh around his hip, opening Al’s body to him.   
  
When the Malfoy heir’s probing fingers came away glistening, he leaned in close. But there wasn’t enough air in the room to _breathe_ , never mind muffle what he said from the others. “You absolute slag,” he muttered, his voice fond. “You sat, telling stories and getting snookered with us, and all the while your arse was slick and open. Planning on getting shagged, were you?” Al moaned, a vaguely affirmative sound. “Tsk, that will never do,” Scorpius purred, his voice deeper than James or his cousin had ever heard it go. “Can’t leave that greedy body hungry, can we? No,” here, he paused to slide one finger into Al’s too-willing body. “But I don’t think you deserve it, just yet.”   
  
At that, Al’s eyes opened, and opened wide. The flush that had but tinted his cheeks before darkened and spread across his face. He swallowed, the noise loud in the breathless silence, before he whispered, “How . . .?”   
  
Scorpius smirked, his grey eyes dangerously bright, before he pushed Al to his knees. “Funny you should ask . . .” he drawled, not needing to say anything else as Al’s hands were already working the flies of his friend’s trousers. His sigh when Scorpius was freed from his clothing was unmistakably eager.   
  
James wondered if he were actually about to watch his younger brother suck cock, or if his morals were going to demand that he leave the room. He thought he _should_ , because he really oughtn’t watch this, but he didn’t want to. Leave, that is. But, no, he stood still, his eyes glued to the sight of Scorpius’s erection disappearing between Al’s pierced lips.   
  
Al moaned around his mouthful as Scorpius leaned over him slightly, one hand braced on the wall, the other winding into thick black hair. _I didn’t know he could take that sort of pounding at the other end,_ Teddy thought dazedly, watching his cousin use his grip on Al’s hair to begin fucking his face in earnest. Al simply braced his hands on downy thighs and rode Scorpius’s thrusts, his eyes glassy. It wasn’t long before Malfoy pushed deep and, with a full-body shudder and a little cry, came down Al’s throat.   
  
After a moment, Scorpius jerked Al off the floor with the hand that was still fisted in his hair. Al merely panted at the rough treatment. Scorpius hustled him with hot hands until Al was positioned as he liked—bent at the waist, hands braced on the wall, and feet wide apart. Moving to the side, so Al could see his face—and giving James and Teddy both a perfect view of how slick Al’s arse was—Scorpius locked eyes with James, even as he spoke to Al. “Beg them. You should see their faces, Al—if you beg them, nice and pretty, I’m sure one of them will fill you.”  
  
Al moaned again, a stuttered, breathy sound. “Jamie?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Jamie, _please_.”   
  
And—exactly as Scorpius had predicted—when asked in that high, needy voice, there was no way James could refuse. He staggered forwards, unable to feel his legs, and noted that everything felt very surreal. The air itself shivered with the _hot-wrong_ desires that were emanating from every bloke in the room. When James had crossed the small space—and time had most certainly warped, because walking six paces should not have taken an hour—he stood carefully behind Al, and pulled himself out of his trousers, not bothering to take them off or even shove them down. He ran his hands down heaving sides, so lightly as to almost not touch at all. He gripped Al’s slender hips in that same gentle manner, and watched—dazed—as he began pressing himself into his brother’s body.   
  
The spell broke when he was half-way seated inside Al. As the tight heat swallowed him, Al ceased to be his brother. He wasn’t someone decidedly off-limits, he wasn’t a slender bloke James could break if he wasn’t careful, and he certainly wasn’t an equal partner who deserved consideration and a good shag. He was just a hole to rut in.   
  
James let go with a choked groan, shoving the rest of his prick inside before pulling out and thrusting back in forcefully. His previously gentle grip on Al’s hips grew tight, his fingers digging into the hollows that lay just inside the jut of bone as he used his hold to drag Al back to meet his thrusts. Al rocked on his toes as he was pulled back against Jamie’s hips, scrabbling for purchase against the smooth walls and wooden floorboards. It was just _so good_.   
  
James, lost first in his haze and then in the animalistic drive to fuck, didn’t realize when Scorpius slipped away. But Teddy, who was watching the whole, shameful show, saw every moment and movement with self-disgust and desire battling for dominance in his guts. When Scorpius slunk over to him, moving behind him to whisper hotly in his ear, Teddy found lust was rather winning.   
  
“He’s so pretty when he’s shameless,” Scorpius murmured, sliding hands Teddy was hyper-aware of around his cousin’s waist. He snugged himself up against Teddy’s back, his cheek laid against blue hair as his fingers casually began to unbutton Teddy’s shirt. “Just look at him, taking everything Jamie dishes out and all-but begging for more.”   
  
And Al really was. Jamie was being far from considerate, and Teddy was half-sure that Al wouldn’t be able to walk come tomorrow morning. But at present, he only rocked back into every thrust and choked out broken syllables that sounded like they belonged to words like “yes” and “please” and “more”.   
  
Having unbuttoned his cousin’s shirt, Scorpius laid one hand flat on his stomach, letting his touch burn like a brand. “He’s so beautiful in his twistedness, isn’t he? Didn’t hesitate a moment before _begging_ his own brother to bugger him.”   
  
“You did tell him to,” Teddy whispered, his throat as dry as sand. Scorpius’s hand began to slide downwards, torturously slowly.   
  
Scorpius hummed in agreement. “I did tell him. Turns out sweet little Al Potter really, _really_ fancies being told what to do. One might even say that he needs it. The question becomes,” his fingertips whispered over the front of Teddy’s straining trousers, “who can be trusted to take him in hand?” Scorpius’s elegant fingers pulled back for a moment, and then slipped beneath the waistband of Teddy’s trousers, and then inside his pants. “Who could use him the way he craves, and then coddle him the way he needs after?” Scorpius’s breath was hot against Teddy’s ear, his hand even hotter as it cupped him inside his clothing, and Teddy arched back against his cousin’s chest. “It can’t be Jamie.”   
  
Teddy’s breath caught.   
  
Because, no; it couldn’t be James. Right now, James was chasing after his own pleasure, plundering his brother’s body for it, without a care for the boy under his hands. Oh, he would care later, once he was sated, but not now. Teddy could see plainly, even from across the room, that Al would have bruises from Jamie’s hands, and pulled muscles from straining to stay upright and push into the pounding at his arse. And James was his brother besides. The guilt from that alone would keep him from giving Al what he needed—though James certainly wasn’t averse to taking what _he_ wanted, if he could get it.   
  
“Yes, you see why it can’t be Jamie,” Scorpius whispered. “He’s completely forgotten his little brother. Oh, not that Al isn’t enjoying himself,” he added quickly, a smirk in his voice, “but this isn’t _quite_ what he needs. So, if you’ll excuse me,” and Scorpius chuckled, amused at the whine when he slid his hand out of Teddy’s pants, “I need to go take care of my best mate. It simply wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t get his pleasure, after granting Jamie and I ours.”   
  
Teddy watched, with panting breaths and a pulsing groin, as Scorpius stalked across the room. His movements were graceful and efficient, even when he lowered himself to his knees before Al. Teddy shucked his unbuttoned shirt, feeling his entire body heat as he watched the Malfoy boy take Al into his mouth, letting the hammering James was delivering slide Al in and out between his lips. Scorpius wasn’t taking Al in deep, Teddy realized, but he didn’t need to, and he was in danger of choking if he tried. Instead, he waited until James was finishing—slamming himself in one last time, his arse flexing in minute movements as he spilled inside Al—before he sucked Al down, and swallowed once. Once was all it took.   
  
The sound Al made when he came was beautiful. Musical. High and sweet and so perfectly desperate.   
  
And then Teddy had to move, because otherwise James was going to hurt the boys. He was swaying on his feet with the force of his orgasm, and if he fell, he would bollocks everything up. Teddy managed to get his hands on his almost-brother’s shoulders and ease him out of Al’s body before depositing him, arse-first, on the floor. Scorpius slid back and away as Teddy wrapped his arms around Al’s torso, carefully leaning the lad against his chest and supporting his weight. Grey eyes held Teddy’s for a moment, something flashing in the backs of them that Ted couldn’t identify.   
  
But Scorpius really didn’t matter at present; what mattered was Al and getting the poor sod somewhere comfortable. Teddy firmed his grip around the body in his arms, and tried to ignore the throbbing between his legs. _Help Al now, wank later,_ he told himself firmly, hitching Al up in his arms and starting to carry him towards his bed.   
  
Teddy’s excellent plan was blasted all to Hell when Al started babbling.   
  
“Unnh, please . . . don’t . . . need, gimme . . .” Teddy looked into blown green eyes, and tried to understand.   
  
“He’s not finished,” Scorpius stated calmly, like that wasn’t the daftest thing Teddy’d ever heard.   
  
“You’re taking the piss,” the metamorphagus said flatly, shifting Al’s weight again. He wasn’t a heavy chap by any stretch, but he was rather squirmy and the last thing Teddy wanted was to drop him on his much-abused arse.   
  
Scorpius snorted, a distinctly un-Malfoy sound. “Look at that one over there,” he gestured over his shoulder to where James was sprawled on the floor, clothes in disarray and halfway to sleep, “and look at this one here.” He nodded towards Al, who trembled, flushing, in Teddy’s arms, his hands clenching convulsively around the shoulders supporting him. “Now tell me: does he look satisfied to you?”   
  
Ted didn’t dignify that with a response.   
  
Instead, he turned, and deposited Al on the desk in the corner of the study they’d been talking, drinking, and shagging in all evening. He pushed Al’s torso down and pulled one knee up, displaying the boy prettily. Teddy kept him pinned down with a firm hand on the back of Al’s neck as he carefully laid the tip of his wand at the base of Al’s spine and began muttering under his breath. Al let out a whine, a sound that was both pleading and curious. Once he’d finished, Ted replied to the implied question. “Checking for damage. I’m not keen on _literally_ tearing you apart.”   
  
At that, Al pushed himself up on his hands to look at Teddy over his shoulder, his mouth open in a silent plea and his eyes spilling raw need. Teddy hushed him absently, smoothing his hands up and down the pale planes of Al’s back, one settling near his waist, the other holding Al’s hips down. Al’s eyes screwed shut as Teddy lined himself up, and began to press carefully ( _so_ carefully) inside.   
  
But when Al tried to swing his leg off the desk, Teddy’s growled, “Don’t you _dare_ ,” made him pause. Instead, Al settled his hands on the desk and tried to shift, gain leverage so he could push back. That time, Teddy slid his hand up from the slender waist to tweak the pierced nipple. Al shuddered and sagged for a moment—but that was all the time Teddy needed. Pushing Al back down flat against the desk, Teddy fully seated himself—quickly, but kindly—and leaned on Al’s shoulders heavily. He began to roll his hips, the movement slow, smooth, as unlike James’s uncontrolled rutting as could be. Al, splayed out as he was, couldn’t do a bleeding thing but feel Teddy’s prick slide in and drag out of his body.   
  
Teddy closed his eyes, lost in bliss and determined to enjoy it this time. And he was certainly doing that—was deriving great satisfaction from the way Al mewled and shifted beneath him, trying to gain purchase and failing to do so, the way he was slowly swelling, pressed as he was against the desk. Teddy shifted, hips flexing, as he searched for the right angle to . . . _ah, there it is_ he thought, a little smugly, as Al squealed under him. Having found what he sought, Teddy didn’t withdraw again—merely ground his hips against the pale, freckled arse and listened as Al whimpered steadily. The heat at the base of his spine built steadily, but Teddy forced it back, wanting to last.   
  
And then Scorpius stepped forward from the shadows where he’d been watching, forgotten. Teddy leaned down to cover more of Al’s body with his own, his golden eyes narrowing at his cousin. But Scorpius was undeterred, his face hard. He stalked forward, his whispered words carrying across the room to worm into Teddy’s brain.   
  
“It can’t be Jamie. We both know that. But the real question is can it be you?” here, he paused, a dark expression twisting across his face. “I don’t know if it can, Teddy. Are you going to fuck him and run the way you did before? The way Jamie will? Will I have to gather poor, sweet Al in my arms and put him back together, take care of him the way you _can’t_?”  
  
There was something about the way Scorpius hissed on the end of “can’t” that just made Teddy snap. His eyes deepened from their customary gold to a colour like burnt sky, and though everyone usually remarked how he was so obviously his mother’s boy, at that moment his father would have known exactly what was tearing through him.   
  
The urge—need—to claim welled in his mouth, refusing to be swallowed down, and Teddy set his teeth into the flesh of Al’s shoulder. He bit down viciously, suddenly, the skin giving way and filling his mouth with blood. Al gasped, his muscles tightening convulsively at the pain, and tipping Teddy over the edge. The sensations—the pain of the bite, the ache from his forced stillness, the way Teddy kept catching and dragging against his sweet spot, feeling the hot gush of Teddy’s orgasm—were too much. With a moan, Al let go, his body going limp as he heaved in great gasps of air.   
  
Teddy peeled himself off Al carefully, not wanting to crush him. Then, turning to Scorpius, his eyes still burning and his mouth stained rust-red, he spoke—softly, but not without force. “You can flap your trap as much as you like, as long as you never touch him again. He’s _mine_.”  
  
And then Teddy swept Al into his arms again and carried him off to bed, so caught up in caring for what was _his_ that he missed the triumphant smirk curling Scorpius’s mouth. In so doing, he also left the Malfoy heir to decide the fate of James Potter, who was kipping on the floor and snoring the obnoxious buzz of the dead drunk, his todger sticky and still hanging out the front of his trousers.   
  
Scorpius left him there, of course.  
  


***

  
  
“So you got what you were aiming for. Is it all you wanted?” Scorpius asked casually, sipping carefully from his glass of absinthe.   
  
Al laughed. “What gave it away?” he asked, a trickster’s twinkle in his eyes.  
  
Scorpius gave him a look. “Al, the only appearance you’ve shown lately is the look of the thoroughly shagged.” Al giggled, but nodded. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the ridiculous notion you fooled me for a pixie’s heartbeat, I repeat: is it all you hoped for?” His tone was no-nonsense, but the sharp edges of his face betrayed his prurient interest in the answer.  
  
Al made a breathy sound that was half-laugh half-groan, his head tipping back. Tossing his hair from his eyes, he gave his best mate a look that was soft and fiercely bright. Scorpius nodded. “I suppose there’s my answer. Though I must say,” his chuckle was only as a long a breath, “I was far from convinced when you presented this scheme to me.”   
  
“In _that_ case,” Al said airily, raising his own absinthe glass, “let’s toast to a caper well-pulled.”   
  
Scorpius dutifully raised his glass, touching it to Al’s just so and relishing the delicate chime it made. “Here’s to schemes successfully accomplished, perversity indulged, lads well-shagged, and always playing with an eye on your endgame,” he pronounced sincerely. His smirk was even more sincere.   
  
Al’s pierced lips quirked in return. “To minding your endgame,” he agreed, before they finished their drinks.   
  
But just the one tonight, because Teddy had warned Al not to come home late or completely arsed. It would ruin his plans. Teddy’s, _and_ Al’s.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
